Being Sam Winchester
by clair beaubien
Summary: Sam realizes that sometimes being a Winchester is a good thing. Pre-series. Teenage Sam, protective Dean & John. Not complete yet. Will end up being a few chapters long.
1. Chapter 1

"Dad - can I go say goodbye to Harry before we leave?" Sam asked. "I'm all packed up."

Dad stopped packing his duffel long enough to check his watch.

"Where are you gonna meet him?"

"Down at the school. He'll be at the playground. It's just a couple blocks away."

"All right. Fifteen minutes, then we come looking for you."

"_Yes Dad."_ Sam said, even though at seventeen he didn't think he needed to be kept track of. He rushed out the door but only got as far as the trunk of the car where Dean shot an arm out to stop him.

"Where're you going?"

"To the school. To say goodbye to Harry. Dad said I could."

"Be back in ten minutes."

"Dad said fifteen."

Dean checked his watch and gave Sam a look. Sam grumped out a sigh.

"_Dad said fifteen."_ He repeated.

"All right. Fifteen. Or we come looking for you."

"_Yes Dean." _Sam growled. "I'm seventeen you know. I don't need you keeping tabs on me."

Dean only raised an eyebrow and looked at his watch again.

"_Fourteen _minutes."

Sam growled again and took off for the school. They'd been here, in Cedar Rapids, a couple of weeks and Sam'd met Harry at the library where Sam was doing research and Harry was doing homework for summer school.

They'd met up almost every day, mostly at the library where Sam would help him with his homework, or at the playground where they'd sit around with Harry's friends, just talking about stuff, stuff that didn't have anything at all to do with hunting.

Now their hunt was over and they were leaving. Sam knew he'd probably never see Harry again but he wanted to say goodbye.

He'd gotten almost to the corner of the school, where a turn would take him onto the playground, when he heard the other kids talking. What they were saying made him stop dead where he was.

"Where's Wimp-chester?" A boy - Erik - asked.

"He's probably with his _Daddy_. Or his _big brother_." Sam recognized Chelsea's voice.

"Maybe he tripped on those big clown feet of his." That was Harry.

"I thought you liked him." Chelsea said.

"I only let him hang around to do my homework. He's such a dork, why else would anybody want him around?"

"He actually has to tell his father where he's going." Erik said. "My parents could care less where I am or what I'm doing."

"Did you see his sneakers?" Chelsea asked. "He said he got them at a _thrift store._ He probably got _all _his clothes there. I'd die if I had to wear anything that was _used._ If my Mom doesn't buy me what I want, I just take the money out of her drawer and get it myself."

Sam felt a strange pain in his head and he realized he wasn't breathing and he couldn't make himself breathe. If he wanted to, he could go in there and beat down Harry and Erik without even trying, and he'd spit on Chelsea just because it would hurt her worse than a punch.

But then they'd know he'd heard them. They'd know that they'd hurt him. And he wasn't going to give them that satisfaction.

He was half a block away from the school and playground when he could finally drag in a gulp of air.

When he got back to the motel, Dad and Dean were just finishing packing up the trunk.

"That didn't take long." Dad said. "Wasn't he there?"

"I didn't see him." That wasn't a lie. He _hadn't_ seen him.

"Everything OK?" Dean asked. Sam knew he'd never be able to lie convincingly to Dean, so he just shrugged and shook his head, hoping Dean would just think he was bummed that he didn't say goodbye.

"Anywhere else he could be?" Dad asked. "We could drive around before we hit the road."

"Nah, it doesn't matter. We can just get going."

"You sure you're OK?" Dean asked again.

"I'm just tired."

He saw Dean and Dad exchange a look. He knew if they both got to thinking something was wrong, he'd never be able to withstand their attempts to find out what it was. He'd been PO'd at Dad enough times that he knew the pissy drill by heart. He opened the back door and plunked himself into the car, and stared out the window as they got on the road.

An hour passed heading east on the I-80. Sam rested his head against the window, watching Iowa go by. Up in the front seat, Dad and Dean talked about the last hunt, and where they should go next. All Sam could think about was what a loser he was.

He didn't used to feel this way. He could remember, up to his freshman year of high school, or a little later, things didn't bother him. Not like this. He could have friends or not, whatever. His life was his life and what else was there?

But since freshman high school, since Truman High School, it'd been different. Life was different. Sam's look at his own life was different and it felt like ever since it'd just been dragging him down. His life was _his_ choice, that was the first time anybody had told him that. Mr. Wyatt practically insisted that Sam _had_ to make that choice for himself.

Sam wasn't sure he wasn't happier when he could tell himself he _had _no choice.

There was never any question in the family what either boy would do when they grew up. _Hunt._ Other kids in all the schools Sam'd gone to had been full of ideas what they wanted to be when they grew up. Doctors, lawyers, firefighters, teachers, actors, politicians. Little Patty Gibson had had a different idea every single day for at least the eight days Sam went to school with her: veterinarian, car mechanic, religious sister, President, candy store owner, foley artist, wife and mother of a dozen children, recluse author. He wondered what she came up with after he left the school.

"_Sam?_"

Dean was saying his name like he'd said it a few times already. He was turned around in his seat, looking at Sam.

"What?" Sam didn't lift his head from the window.

"Lunch? Y'got anywhere you want to stop for lunch?"

"No. Whatever. I don't care."

"Y'okay kiddo?" Dad asked. He turned to look at Sam over his shoulder.

"M'tired."

"You coming down with something?"

"No. I don't think so. I don't know." Sam didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to talk at all.

"We'll stop pretty soon for lunch, then you can close your eyes and get some sleep."

"Yeah." It almost wasn't a word, Sam slurred it out so thickly. They'd eat a manufactured lunch at a plastic restaurant with fake waitresses and questionable cleanliness. Then they'd get back in the car and drive another three hundred miles of repetitive road until they stopped for dinner at another plastic restaurant.

Sam sighed.

Laura Reilly had a stay-at-home Mom who made a fresh batch of cookies every single day. Billy Ingraham had a stay-at-home Dad who went to every single soccer game. The last time Sam had a homemade cookie was the past June at the party on the last day of school. As for soccer -

He sighed again.

Well, Dad _had_ come to a few soccer games, including the championship game. They'd even stayed in town the extra week until the award ceremony and picnic so Sam could get his trophy.

That was something anyway.

_Wasn't enough though, was it?_ A voice he didn't want to recognize asked. _Wasn't every single game. Wasn't fresh cookies every single day. Wasn't - normal._

Sam knew, normal would never exist for him. Other than a few months at the beginning of his life, it never had existed for him.

"Hey Dad - there's a all-you-can-eat buffet place at the next exit." Dean said. "I just saw a billboard for it back there."

"Great. That's a lifesaver for a man with two growing boys."

"Hey, we don't eat that much."

"You _should_ eat more."

"I'll see what I can do. What d'you think Sam?" Dean asked, looking over his shoulder.

"I don't know. Whatever. I'm not hungry." Sam turned to look out his window, but not before he saw the look that Dean shot Dad. He wasn't deliberately trying to piss them off; he really was tired. He really wasn't hungry.

Well okay, he _was_ hungry. But eating wasn't going to make him feel any better.

They took the next exit and found the restaurant pretty soon after. Dad parked and Sam clumped along behind him and Dean into the restaurant. They paid and picked a table and split up to get their food from the lengthy buffet. Sam got chicken and mashed potatoes and corn and went back to the table.

He looked around the dining area as he ate. It wasn't an upscale place, people were dressed mostly the same, casual clothes, jeans, sneakers. Mostly families, which meant kids and Dads and Moms.

Just to rub it in, off to his right, near the dessert bar, he heard a little girl yell,

"_Mooooom."_

He looked over and saw a little girl in a pretty dress covered in ice cream running from the dessert bar to a table.

"What did you do now?" Her mother demanded loudly. "Look at you - your new dress. Oh - look at that!" She sounded pissed and she dragged the little girl in direction of the restrooms.

Back at the dessert bar Sam heard somebody laughing and when he looked back he saw a guy, maybe Dean's age, tall, thin, and trying to be scary looking with some black leather, buzz cut, tattoos and piercings. Small town goth, Sam thought. The guy was laughing and Sam wondered if he had anything to do with the ice cream dripping down the little girl's dress.

Dean and Dad came back to the table together, talking about whether they should go to Illinois or Kentucky. Dad sat across from Sam, and Dean sat next to Dad. Sam kept his eyes on his plate or looked around the restaurant, and listened to them talk. A year from now, five years, ten or twenty years from now, he'd be sitting at this table, listening to them talk about which hunt to go on next. All he wanted right now was for the two of them to shut up.

"What do you think Sam?" Dad asked.

"Does it matter?" Sam groused. "We'll do one, then we'll do the other. What difference does it make what I think?"

That wasn't really fair and Sam knew it. Dad always took his serious ideas seriously. He didn't ask just to make Sam feel better or just make him feel part of the conversation. He really wanted to know.

So before Dad got on his case about his attitude, Sam offered,

"The activity in Illinois is doing less damage, but it's happening more frequently. Kentucky isn't due to happen again for at least three weeks."

Dad nodded but watched Sam. Not angry, not confused, just - concerned.

"Y'okay?"

Yes, no, maybe. Sam didn't know. He was tired. He was pissed.

"I'm gonna get some more food." Was all he said.

He turned in his chair, getting ready to stand up, when he saw that goth guy again, just in time to see him jostle a boy, younger than Sam, dumping the plate of salad the kid was carrying all over the kid.

_Idiot,_ Sam thought. _Big man in a little town._

As if he heard him, the guy looked at Sam, giving him a challenging look. Sam stared back. Today was not the day he was going to back down. Goth guy gave first, sneering but walking away, giving the salad kid a shove as he walked past.

When he was gone, Sam stood up and walked down to the far other end of the buffet, down to tacos, nachos and pizza. He'd just filled his plate when he sensed trouble next to him. It was only a quarter of a second warning but it was enough that when goth guy elbowed him, Sam made sure his fully loaded tacos launched right at the idiot, hitting him square and sticking in dripping clumps to his cheap leather.

"Hey, you little creep!" Goth guy hollered at him. "What the hell d'you think you're doing?"

He made a move like he was going to backhand Sam and before Sam could move, Dad was there. He grabbed goth guy's hand, bending his thumb impossibly close to his wrist.

"Did you really think you were going to touch my son?" Dad asked him, talking in his low, even, dangerous voice. Sam took a step back, right into Dean.

"It's okay." Dean said. "He touch you?"

"No."

"Is there a problem here?" The manager asked. He was maybe Dad's age, maybe a little older, a little heavier. Sam wondered what story Dad was going to give him.

"Yeah, there's a problem." Dad said. He kept his eyes on goth guy. "This guy just knocked my son's plate out of his hands on purpose." Goth guy made the mistake of chuckling and Sam saw Dad increase the pressure on his thumb. "You did it before didn't you?" Dad asked. "The kid at the salad bar? The little girl with the ice cream before that, right?"

The manager folded his arms and addressed the guy.

"I think it's time you left son."

"I didn't do anything." Goth guy tried. The pain in his thumb came through in his voice.

"You know, I am off duty." Dad said, assuming a cop persona. "But I would be _happy _to escort him off of your premises."

"Is that gonna be necessary son?"

Goth guy actually seemed to try a stare down with Dad, but it didn't last more than a few seconds.

"_No._ Not it won't be. I'll leave."

Dad still took another second or two to release his thumb, and he didn't step back, making the idiot have to walk around him. Dean stepped in front of Sam as the guy walked past him and they all stared at him until he stalked out the front door.

"Sorry for the trouble." The manager said to Dad.

"No harm done." Dad said. He put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "We're just going to get another plate and have some more of your fine food."

He smiled and when the manager walked away, Dad turned to Sam.

"You okay? He hurt you?"

"I'm okay. He didn't hurt me. I'm okay."

"Sure?"

"Yeah."

Dad still gave Sam a once over before he nodded and put a hand on each boy's shoulder and guided them back to the buffet.

"Okay, so what were you getting - tacos? Let's get some plates and try this again. Dean - you're getting some more food. Right?"

"Oh yeah. You're okay Sammy?" Dean asked and looked him up and down and waited for Sam's answer -

"Yeah. I'm okay."

- before he went down to the dessert display.

Dad stayed with Sam as he loaded up on tacos, even though the danger was passed, even though Sam could've put goth guy out of commission all by himself.

"I don't know how you boys eat that stuff." Dad said. He kept a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Give me steak and potatoes any day."

"Tacos are good."

"Well I didn't think you were eating it because it was _bad_. We didn't have food like this when I was your age. You got enough food there? Are you sure? Well c'mon back to the table."

On the way back to their table, where Dean was already eating his dessert, an old lady stopped Dad.

"Good for you getting rid of that boy. He was nothing but bad news."

"Happy to help." Dad told her, flashing his charming smile. She smiled back like if only she was twenty years younger...and Sam couldn't help thinking, 'ewww gross'. Dad was old, he was like almost fifty, too old for even an even older old woman to be interested in him.

"Get her number?" Dean asked Dad when they got back to the table.

"No, but I gave her _yours_." Dad said. Dean only laughed and they got started talking about Illinois again while Sam ate his tacos.

Dad pulled out his journal and was showing something to Dean and for right now, Sam liked just sitting there with them. The food was good, the place was clean, the jerk was gone. Dad and Dean were just Dad and Dean. They'd both been there, _right_ there as soon as goth guy made a move on Sam.

One time he was talking with the other kids, Harry talked about getting picked on by some bully in grammar school and how all his parents had told him was that Harry should avoid him. That was all. No help, no advice, no self-defense lessons, nothing. They just let him face it all by himself. Not in his wildest dreams could Sam imagine Dean or Dad knowing that was happening to him and them sitting back, doing nothing.

Even when they left the restaurant, Sam ended up bracketed between them, Dad walking outside first and doing a casual - but Sam knew _thorough _- visual of the area, making sure goth guy was nowhere around, while Dean kept watch behind him until they were all safely in the car.

"Wanna see if there's a car parts store around?" Dean asked Dad. "That windshield wiper is getting a tear in it."

"No, not here. I want to put a couple hundred miles between us and Chuckles before we stop again. We'll look when we stop for dinner. Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You lie down now, get some rest."

"Yessir."

"Use my jacket if you want." Dean offered.

"'Kay."

Sam folded Dean's leather jacket for a pillow and stretched out as much as he could along the back seat. One deep breath and he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

When Sam woke up again, he was still tucked into the back seat, but judging from the speed and the potholes, they were off the interstate and on some back road. Dean and Dad were talking quietly.

"Maybe he's having another growth spurt." Dean was saying. "You know he gets tired and grumpy whenever he's having one."

"I know. Don't forget - that's exactly how _you_ get too." Dad said.

"_Me?"_

"_You_. You're still growing too."

"Gee, try and have a conversation with a fella and he gets insulting." Dean grumped. It sounded like he ruffled some paper, a map or a newspaper. "Seven miles north, then turn right on Checkerboard Road."

"Where're we going?" Sam asked, face still pressed into Dean's jacket.

"We got ourselves a little salt and burn while you were sleeping, Sammy. Y'up for it?"

"There is no such thing as a 'little' salt and burn." Sam sat up and maneuvered himself around to rest his head against the window. He felt hot. Could be just the sun shining in.

"How're you doing kiddo?" Dad asked. Sam made some noise meant to sound equivocal.

"Just need to wake up."

Dad said, "Okay," but kept his eyes on Sam in the rearview for just a few moments more.

SPN SPN SPN

The 'little' salt and burn turned into digging into hard pan, chopping through tree roots, digging out rocks, chopping more tree roots, and encountering a coffin apparently made out of ironwood.

"'Little'?" Sam asked, collapsed on the ground near the grave. He was exhausted, sweating, and out of breath. "You call this _little_?"

"You're just delicate." Dean said. He was standing at the graveside, drinking a bottle of water. Dad was in the grave, attacking the coffin with the axe. The sun would be setting in another hour.

"Sammy - go to the car and get me the big hatchet." Dad said.

"Aw Dad - can't Dean go? I just got done with my turn digging."

"_Sam _- go and get it for me."

"Yessir." Sam hmmphed and got to his feet and Dean handed him the bottle of water and car keys as he walked past.

"Gee, thanks."

The grave was in an old burying ground of an old farm community that was being swallowed up by housing developments, and as Sam walked the quarter mile or so to the car through the sapling forest, he could see the roofs of those new houses off in the distance. Inside those houses people were making dinner, watching TV, taking showers. Kids had their own beds, their own rooms, their own dreams.

For sure none of them was disturbing a grave or desecrating a corpse.

He got the hatchet from the trunk of the car and brought it back to Dad.

"Haven't got all afternoon, Sam." Dad said. He sounded grumpy.

"Sorry." Sam handed it down to him and took the axe.

"Get the salt and accelerant ready, I'll have the lid open in a few minutes."

"Yessir."

Sam turned away from the grave, toward Dean and the supplies. His foot caught on something and suddenly the ground was coming up at him fast and he landed hard on his knees and jammed his shoulder against the flat end of the axe. The half empty bottle of water went flying.

"Sammy? You all right?" Dean rushed to him. "Did you get cut?"

"No. I just tripped over my stupid feet."

"What happened?" Dad asked.

"Sammy fell on the axe." Dean said.

"_What_?" Dad pulled himself out of the grave and came to Sam. "How bad?"

"I'm fine."

"I'm just checking him."

Sam was on his knees, trying to get to his feet. Dean was at his side, trying to get him to stay where his was so he could pull his shirt aside to have a look. Dad was at the other side.

"Are you bleeding? What happened?"

"I tripped on my stupid clown feet." Sam muttered. Dad gave him a look like he was going to dispute it, but Dean said,

"That tree root jumped up and tripped him." He pulled Sam's shirt half off and the neck of his t-shirt aside and poked at his shoulder. "Does that hurt?"

"Ow. _That _hurts." Sam told him, trying to get away from him. "Stop poking me."

"No blood."

"Dislocated?" Dad asked.

"No. Gonna have a nice bruise though."

"_Guys?_" Sam interrupted. "I'm fine? Can I get up?"

"C'mon over here." Dad said. He hooked an arm under Sam's uninjured shoulder and lifted him to his feet. "Take a seat here under this tree. Wait for Dean and me to get this taken care of."

"_Daaad _-."

Sam wasn't a little kid who couldn't take a hit. He could take worse than this and keep going.

"Humor me." Dad said and lowered Sam to the base of a gnarled old tree. "Dean - do we have an ice thing?"

"Yeah, I'll get it." He headed for the car and Dad called after him,

"Bring an ace wrap too."

"Right."

"_Daaad_…" Sam complained. "It's nothing."

"And it's gonna _stay_ nothing." Dad said. He crouched in front of Sam and took his bad arm, gently flexing it and manipulating his shoulder. "That hurt?"

"No. No, it doesn't."

"Sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"Okay." Dad let Sam take his arm back, then patted his cheek. "You're having a busy day, hunh? Chuckles back at the restaurant couldn't lay a finger on you, but a two hundred year old tree root nearly takes you out."

"Yeah, I guess."

Sam hoped it would end there, but Dad was looking at him, studying him, like he was looking for something more. Sam looked down at his lap.

Finally, whatever Dad had in mind, he gave up.

"All right. You sit here and rest. Dean and me'll get this burn taken care of. We should be on the road again before dark."

"Okay."

Dad left Sam at the bottom of the tree and walked back to the grave, where he stood for a minute with his hands on his hips, looking down into it. Sam watched him.

Yeah, Dad was old, but he wasn't decrepit or anything. Y'know, _yet_. Sometimes he could be an '_asshat'_, that's what Dean mumbled under his breath at Dad sometimes, when he was _real_ sure Dad was nowhere close enough to hear, when Dad was in a mood and nothing was good enough, ever good enough, or every going to _be_ good enough.

Sometimes though - sometimes Dad was Dad. Just _Dad. _And sometimes that was really nice.

Sam pushed to his feet, grabbed the salt and lighter fluid in his good hand and went to stand next to Dad.

"Thought I told you to rest." Dad said. Sam shrugged and showed him what was in his hands.

"Always gotta be ready, right?" He asked.

Dad grinned and took the bag of salt from him.

"Yeah, always. You feeling better?"

"I told you - my arm's fine." Well, it hurt a little, but on Planet Winchester, 'a little' _did_ mean fine.

"I'm not talking about your arm." Dad said, with some meaning. "You feelin' better for having a sleep?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I am." And right this minute, it wasn't even really a lie. It was almost like this morning and all the cutting things those other kids had said about him hadn't even really happened.

Well, okay, it _had_ happened and it still hurt. But those kids and those remarks were four hundred miles away. Right now, Sam was with Dad and Dean, and things were okay.

Until he heard Dean making his way back from the car with the blue freezy thing and the ace bandage to sling and swath his arm.

"I can't help you fill the grave in again if my shoulder is all bandaged up."

"And your shoulder won't get better if it _isn't_ all bandaged up." Dad said. He nodded at Dean.

"You take care of Sammy. I'll get back to work on Rip Van Winkle here."

"You got it."

"Daaaaad." Sam tried again, but Dad gave him the sharp '_now'_ look and that was all Sam needed to give up and give in. While Dad finished cracking through the unyielding wood of the coffin and prepared to burn it, Dean wrapped Sam's arm flexed across his chest to keep his shoulder immobile, then handed him the blue ice pack to press against the blossoming bruise.

By the time that was done, Dad was back out of the grave, ready to toss in the matches. He gave a look back to the boys before he dropped them in and Dean put his arm out across the front of Sam, like Sam might suddenly dart forward into the fire. It didn't matter that Sam was seventeen years old, it didn't matter that they were fifteen feet away, Dean put his arm out.

He didn't put his arm down until Dad came to stand on the other side of Sam and put his hand on Sam's good shoulder. Sam sighed but it was lost in the roar of the coffin catching and burning, and Dad and Dean were too focused on watching the flames to see Sam rolling his eyes in mock annoyance. Even when he was eight, he'd never made a mad dash toward the fire.

There wasn't much talk while the fire burned, there usually wasn't. Sam stood between Dean and Dad and watched the flames slowly die down. He held back another sigh. One hundred and fifty years this body had lain in this exact spot. Six hundred seasons. One hundred and fifty thousand days and nights. Yesterday, they'd been half a thousand miles away where Dad had dispatched a poltergeist. They'd killed a werewolf twenty days and eighteen states ago. Now they were smack in the middle of nowhere trying to put a vengeful spirit to rest.

What did kids do who lived their whole lives in the sam house and only had to worry about acne and taking the garbage out?

Once the fire was done, Dad and Dean started shoveling the soil back in. Sam turned to retrieve the bottle of water, empty can of lighter fluid and empty bag of salt.

"Hey - take it easy." Dean called back to him. Sam only shook his head and kept retrieving. The sooner everything was packed up, the sooner they could get back to the car and on the road and someplace else.

They were always someplace else.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Sam's shoulder hurt from where he had slammed it against the axe. His knees hurt from where he had slammed them against the ground. His neck twinged from the lousy pillow he was using, and his feelings were hurt from being relegated - _again_ - to the kiddie bed.

OK, technically it wasn't a _kiddie_ bed, it was just a roll-away bed, an extra bed for a motel room that only came with two real beds. It wasn't the bed that made it 'kiddie', but the location - pushed against the far back wall, under the attached coat rack, and opposite the bathroom door.

Swanky. Real swanky.

He turned over - _again_ - and bunched up the pillow and tried - _again _- to find some comfortable way of lying on the bed so that maybe he'd finally fall asleep. He'd laid down a couple of hours ago and hadn't even come close to being tired.

Dad and Dean both were asleep, over in the 'grown-up' beds. There were times when hearing them breathe, late at night, in a darkened motel room, comforted Sam and made it easier for him to drift off into sleep, knowing they were nearby and he was safe.

Right now though, it grated like sandpaper over metal. _All _the usual sounds of nighttime in a motel room seemed amplified and annoying and conspiring to keep Sam from ever falling asleep again. Traffic roared past on the interstate just beyond the motel parking lot, other motel patrons' evening activities echoed through the thin walls. And of course - the faucet in the bathroom _drip-drip-dripped_ with regularity and zeal.

Maybe Sam shouldn't have had coffee with dinner and then taken the Excedrin for his assorted aches. But he liked coffee with dinner because Dean had coffee with dinner, and Excedrin was the painkiller he came across first in the first aid kit. Only, all that caffeine added to the sleep he'd had in the backseat of the car this afternoon was equaling a really long night of no sleep at all.

At least Dean had let him sleep without the sling & swath of the ace wrap, so Sam could get comfortable. Reasonably comfortable. Sort of comfortable.

Not deadly uncomfortable anyway.

It wasn't fair. Sam punched his pillows and turned himself over on the lumpy mattress. Again. It wasn't fair that Dad and Dean could sleep anywhere, anytime, any ambient noise. It wasn't fair that they could shut off the day and the hunts, the monsters and the dangers, the nights and the nightmares, while Sam's brain seemed always to whir on with what happened, why it happened, how it could maybe happen differently next time.

But more and more lately his brain whirred on with how his life was, how it wasn't, and how he wanted it to be.

And not-sleeping on a hard roll-away bed outside a bathroom with a dripping sink was _not_ how he wanted it to be. He briefly considered putting a towel in the sink to dull the drip, but he knew from experience that as soon as the towel became saturated, the '_drip, drip, drip' _would turn into '_splat, splat, splat'_. That would be even worse.

He tried to imagine himself away at college, in a dorm room, with a dripping sink and indeterminate roommates. Dorm rooms weren't grand palaces after all, they were cramped and uncomfortable. Roommates were sloppy, loud, and inconsiderate. It probably wouldn't be much different than sharing motel rooms with Dad and Dean.

Only instead of digging graves and burning corpses, hunting werewolves, black dogs and poltergeists, living off diner food, bad coffee and fake credit cards, he'd be researching literature, writing response papers, studying all night, eating student union food.

Without Dad.

Without Dean.

Sam tried to imagine himself in a room with people who weren't his family.

He tried to imagine that he was in a college dorm room and Dad and Dean were hundreds or a thousand miles away, hunting something dangerous and clever and fast.

And dangerous.

That would be the hardest part. Not being there to share in or mitigate the danger. Yeah, Dad and Dean were older and more experienced and if ever Dad got hurt, Dean usually did the patching, and if Dean or Sam got hurt, Dad usually did the patching. Still, Sam had done some patching, and even if he didn't, he felt better when he could be there when one of them was hurt.

He always felt better too when he didn't feel good when Dean and Dad were there, or close enough to be there when Sam wanted them.

If he left them to go to college…

That was the problem wasn't it? To walk into the world waiting for him out there, Sam would have to leave behind the only world he'd ever known.

And that would be hard.

Even _if_ the only world he knew came with a sink that drip-drip-dripped incessantly.

He grumbled and turned himself over and hurt his shoulder and he spat out a curse.

"S'm?" Dean called, tiredly and softly. "Y'right?"

""Can't sleep…" Sam called back, just as softly.

"Shoulder?"

"No…sink's dripping."

"Guys…" Dad's sleep-deep voice broke in. "Is this something that can wait for morning?"

"Sammy can't sleep." Dean supplied.

"Y'all right?"

In the darkened room, Sam could see that Dad pushed himself up to look over at him.

"Sink's dripping." Dean supplied again as he turned himself over.

"Sink?" Dad asked, sounding confused or annoyed, or maybe a little of both.

"Just - the bathroom sink is dripping, is all." Sam said. "It's keeping me awake."

He knew a dripping bathroom sink had to seem a ludicrous foe to a man who was used to getting up in the middle of the night to tangle with spirits, werewolves, and other literal monsters. He expected Dad to rumble an order to go to sleep in spite of it.

But Dad got up from the bed and walked toward Sam, and Sam sat up, wondering what was going on, what Dad was going to do or say, but he only walked into the bathroom. He flicked the light on, reached under the sink and turned the knob that shut off the water, flicked the light off again and walked back to bed, ruffling Sam's hair as he walked past.

"Remind in the morning that I shut that off, okay?" He asked and went back to bed.

Sam laid back, listening to the dull quiet filling up the room. Dad and Dean fell right back to sleep, judging from their breathing, and Sam gave a quiet laugh at that. Of course they were asleep. The monster - a dripping sink - had been identified and neutralized. Job done, mission accomplished, game over. Nothing left to do but fall asleep again.

In the quiet, Sam's bed seemed more comfortable, the pillow wasn't as lumpy anymore, and the blanket was warm. His body relaxed, his mind finally stopped whirring, and he joined his family in sleep.

To be continued…


	4. Chapter 4

A/N 1: is anybody else having trouble replying to reviews? Every time I try, FF tells me "user no longer active". I think they're lying to me!

A/N 2: if you're interested in my thoughts on S6, they can be found on my website maureenlougen(dot)com (under the Supernatural button) or on my blog. (and it still weirds me out to say "my blog")

* * *

Sam hated it.

The next motel room smelled like burned popcorn and stale beer and it gave him a headache within the first half hour of being in it. His sore knees were scabbed over and his aching shoulder had an oblong bruise on it from the axe head and he downed a couple more Excedrin to ward off his growing aches and pains.

"You up to this, Sammy?" Dean as they checked the weapons in the trunk before heading out. "I don't think it's gonna be anything much. We could leave you to your beauty sleep."

"_I'm fine." _Sam told him. "I don't need Dad griping at me that I'm not doing my share."

Dean shook his head and sighed like Sam was being deliberately contrary. Which - maybe he was. A _little_. It wasn't like Dad hadn't griped a time or two or twenty about Sam's attitude to the job. He just hadn't done it lately.

"_I'm fine." _Sam muttered again and threw himself into the car.

They were headed to an ancient old abandoned warehouse in an ancient old failing neighborhood in an ancient old rust-belt town. There'd been reports of glowing eyes and weird trilling sounds and black shapes disappearing into walls in the building. At first they'd all three agreed that it sounded exactly like urban barn owls, until the reports started including spatters and sprays of human blood.

So, they were headed out at nightfall to find what they could find, and see what they might have to kill.

The old building was inadequately boarded up and stood among other inadequately secured buildings. Dad parked a block and a half away, in case any 5-0 was patrolling, and they carried their weapons hidden in their jeans and jackets for the same reason.

"Okay, Dean. You head around the other side, keep a sharp lookout. We'll meet at the northeast corner. Sammy, you stay with me."

Sam sighed.

"Why does _Dean _get to go by himself?" He muttered more than asked.

"_Because I say so." _

Sam let it drop. He wasn't in the mood and they weren't in a place to argue. He let it drop and dutifully fell in behind Dad.

Dean slapped the back of his hand against Sam's shoulder as he moved off one way around the old building. When he'd turned the first corner Dad started off the other way, and Sam followed him. They were looking for signs that would tell them what they might be up against, and they were looking for an easy way into the building.

Sam was thinking of every other thing he'd rather be doing right now. Reading a book, watching TV, or gee - be a _normal_ teenager and maybe be out a movie with his friends or God-forbid, on a _date._ Other boys his age had been on thousands of dates already, and he'd been on _seven_. And only three had been with the same girl, back earlier in the year when he'd actually been in the _same school _for actually _five weeks_.

Even in his own thoughts, Sam could feel the sarcasm rolling off of him.

He hated this, having to sneak around abandoned buildings in dangerous neighborhoods, trying to not get caught by 5-O, hoping to not get exsanguinated by whatever bloodthirsty, creepy bad thing they were after. Spending every day, every hunt, every clue, hoping to find and kill the thing that killed Mom and maybe somehow salvage what was left of the rest of his life.

The farther they crept along next to the old building, the more Sam's anger built. Dean got to case this place by himself. When he was Sam's age, he was allowed to case places like this by himself. Hell, when he was _fifteen_, he was allowed to, too. What the hell did Dad think was so wrong with Sam that he had to be tethered to an _adult_ every damn time he set foot outside?

Hell, he was as tall as Dean and taller than Dad and still getting taller. He was strong and smart and quick and if Dad didn't think he was capable on his own why did he even make him come along all the damn time and -

Even as Sam ranted on to himself, he kept his senses trained on their surroundings. He could smell rotting garbage and stagnant sewer, he could feel the muffled crunch of broken glass under his boots as he placed his steps carefully, soundlessly, on the ground. Beyond them, half a mile away or so, he could hear traffic on the main drag. Behind him he could hear -

Sam pulled his gun and turned in one movement, and came practically face to face with - a _man_.

"Something I can help you with?" The guy asked. He had a pointy nose and a nasally voice and seemed dangerously unconcerned to have a gun pointed right at him.

"We're looking for somebody." Dad said, lying out a vague cover for them being there, smooth and unconcerned himself. He took two steps to be front of Sam. "Maybe you know where he is?"

"I'm the only _somebody_ around here." The guy smirked back. "Any business you got on this whole block, you got with me."

"Is that so?" Dad took another step forward, into the guy's personal space, but the guy didn't back up. He was as tall as Dad, but had that skinny, red-eyed look of poor nutrition and drug use. Great, they didn't just have to wrangle supernatural things, they had to get around this hopped up moron to do it.

"_Yeah, it's so." _The guy sneered out a brag. "So, how 'bout you tell me why're here on my block."

"How 'bout we _don't_." Dad answered back. He took another step into the guy's space, but the guy still didn't back up. Which meant he was brave, or stupid, or drugged up. Sam actually hoped it was the first one, because bravery could be reasoned with. Drugs and stupidity couldn't.

Which meant it _had _to be drugs or stupidity.

And just as Sam was thinking the night just couldn't get any worse - because it _had_ to be drugs _and_ stupidity - Jerk #2 showed up, shadowing out of a doorway in the old building. He pulled a smoldering cigarette from his mouth and flicked it to the ground and stood behind Jerk #1.

"Like I was saying," Drugged and Stupid said, like he had the upper hand. "You're gonna tell me what you're doing on my block."

"No. _I'm not_." Dad answered him. And said nothing else.

Sam knew Dean would realize the situation. When Dad and Sam weren't where Dean was expecting them, he'd come in slow and careful, unseen and dangerous. And with Dean on one side, and Dad on the other, and the two idiots in the middle, the fight would be on.

And once the human threat had been dealt with, they'd still have to deal with the supernatural one.

Drugged and Stupid rolled his skinny shoulders and curled his lip with a sniff. It was coming, Sam could tell the fight was coming. He slipped his gun back into the waistband of his jeans; in such close quarters, in hand to hand combat, a gun was as much a danger to himself as it would be to the bad guys. He stowed his gun and flexed his hands and waited.

No, he couldn't be on a date, or at a movie with friends. Hell, he didn't even _have_ any friends. All he had was a bunch of kids lying to his face and laughing behind his back, and he had no reason to think they weren't right when they called him a dork with clown feet. And he couldn't even wallow in his self-pity; no, he had to be out here in this stinking alleyway, facing down drugged idiots, with the night ending bloody for somebody.

Drugged & Stupid made a feint, pulling his right hand back but coming up swinging with his left, but Dad saw it and countered it, blocking both and landing a couple of quick blows to the jerk's chin that drove him back into Jerk #2 and nearly took them both down.

Sam knew it was too easy to think that would scare them off and sure enough, both of them, Jerk #1 and Jerk #2, they both pulled knives and were on Dad in a flash, shoving him back and opening up a slice on his coat sleeve that turned blood red in an instant.

In that instant, Sam saw the whole rest of the night roll out before his eyes - drive off the human jerks, take care of the supernatural jerks, go back to the reeking motel room and stitch Dad up, maybe a shower, then lie down to not sleep for six hours before they got up and got on the road, _again,_ to the next hunt and the next life-threatening moment. And Sam couldn't stand it.

Before the first drop of Dad's blood even hit the pavement, Sam was on them, both of the jerks, grabbing them off Dad with well-practiced moves, and flinging them to the pavement, hard.

"_I have had __**enough**__." _he roared, to them, to Dad, to the universe. He took a fighting stance over them, hands fisted, breathing hard, every muscle taut and ready. "_I will kill you. I swear to __**God**__, I - WILL - KILL - YOU."_

The jerks took a second to consider. Jerk #2 dragged himself to his knees and then his feet and then he was running. Jerk #1 must've thought the universe owed him something because he launched himself at Sam, and for his troubles he got a head butt, a fist in his solar plexus, and the heel of Sam's hand crunching his nose from the bottom up. He crumpled to the ground, broken and bloody, then like his smarter friend he crawled himself to his feet and ran away as fast as his damaged body could manage.

"_Sam? Sam, can you hear me?_"

Dad's voice barely reached Sam over the blood thundering in his ears. It took him a few seconds to realize what it was and who was talking and what he was supposed to do about it. After those few seconds, he turned to Dad, eyes wide, muscles still tense, hands still fists, lungs still laboring. He was so enraged he couldn't talk, not even to ask if Dad was okay as blood welled through the fingers he had pressed over his sliced arm.

"_Sam_..." Dad sounded like he was trying to be soothing, like he thought maybe Sam was freaking out. "It's okay now. You did good, they're gone. You didn't get hurt, did you?"

Somehow, Sam managed to shake his head, but when Dad's eyes looked beyond him and he heard footsteps hurrying behind him, he pulled his gun and spun around, drawing down on Dean, who skidded to a stop and held his hands up.

"_Sammy_?" He was talking calm too, slow, like Dad was. "Put the gun away, Sammy. It's me. It's okay...okay? Put the gun away."

The world came rushing back in on Sam as the blood pounding in his ears died away. He heard the far off traffic and felt the slight breeze that wafted the smell of the alleyway around them. He felt the chill and shivers and rage rolling through his veins.

He saw that his hands holding his gun were shaking.

_"Dad - Dad's hurt." _He said, and his voice was shaking too. He dropped his hands but held onto the gun.

"What happened?" Dean asked. He walked past Sam, keeping an eye on him, and went to Dad.

"Couple of potheads thought they owned the alley." Dad said, "Your little brother wiped the floor with them."

Dad sounded proud and Dean flashed Sam a grin as he examined Dad's arm, but Sam didn't care what they thought; he only felt sick to his stomach.

"All right, let's go." Dean said after a minute. He'd pulled Dad's jacket off and was using it as a staunch against the wound. "We've got to get back to the motel so I can get a better look at this."

"_After_ we hunt this thing." Dad said.

"No, Dad_. Now. _This arm needs stitches before you bleed out. _Let's go_."

"All right." Dad agreed, reluctantly. "We come back when it's done."

"_We'll see_." Dean told him. "Sam? You ready?"

Sam nodded but didn't put his gun away; he kept it in his hand and scoped out the area in case Stupid & Stupider came back with reinforcements. His hands were still shaking, his whole _body_ felt like it was shaking, but he kept look-out to the sides and behind, walking just behind Dad, while Dean kept look-out on point, scanning to the front and sides.

They made it to the car with nothing more happening and Dean got them back to the motel fast. Sam stood at the bathroom door, leaning his shoulder against the frame, while Dean washed and disinfected and stitched up Dad's arm. Sam knew what it was like to be on the giving and receiving end of motel surgery, he knew exactly the resistance and give of skin against suture, the dread of each methodical puncture and tug through flesh.

He wanted a life where he _didn't_ know what that was like. He wanted to not know - to not _have_ to know - how to put a man's head into a wall to save himself or his family from harm. He wanted any life that wasn't _this_ life.

When the stitching was done and the bandage was on and Dean was packing up the first aid kit, Dad pulled a clean t-shirt on and came to stand a couple of feet in front of Sam.

"You really saved your old man's ass back there." He sounded amused and a little bit wary, like maybe he wasn't sure Sam had come all the way back yet from the freak-out in the alleyway.

Sam knew it was meant as a 'thank you', with a 'I'm proud of you' laid on top where he should see it without Dad needing to say it out loud. And any other time, he'd probably be grinning like a fool at the compliment, but not tonight. He glanced to Dean, but Dean only looked grim as he finished packing up the supplies and hefted the bag.

"I'm putting this in the car."

When he was out the door, Sam glanced back at Dad, but then dropped his eyes.

"I could've taken out the jerk at the restaurant too, the other day." He said. There was no anger in the remark, only weariness. He rested his head against the doorframe, too.

"I know you could have." Dad said. "And I would've _let_ you. But I wouldn't have been able to keep Dean out of it, and then we would've had to pay for all the chairs he broke over the jerk's head."

He smiled when he said it and it took some digging but Sam found a small smile to answer back with, even though he didn't really feel it.

"So, what d'you say?" Dad asked. "Ready to go back and hit it?"

Sam was about to answer '_sure'_ because that was the only answer Dad would take, but Dean came back into the room saying,

"No point in going back now." He said. "Kid in the next room over just pulled in. Said he heard on the radio that the whole building's on fire. Hell, the whole block over there is on fire. The announcer said it looked like something out of 'Excalibur' it's so involved."

He punched on the TV and flipped through the channels until he found a local news and live footage of the fire. They watched it a few minutes.

"Wonder if it was our friend with the cigarette." Dad said, then added more quietly, "Hope nobody was in there."

Dean shook his head and turned away.

"Guess that takes care of _that_ problem. I'm going to take a shower and go to bed."

He grabbed his duffel and disappeared into the bathroom, and that left Dad and Sam alone together.

"You should go to bed, too." Dad offered. "You had a hard night."

Sam wanted to sleep but knew that he wouldn't. He wanted to go to bed, but not on the stupid little rollaway tucked against the back wall, in a crappy motel room that smelled of rotted food and other people.

"Yeah, guess I will."

He didn't get undressed or even take off his boots. He laid down and closed his eyes and tried not to see the jerks in the alleyway or the sticky blood clotting down Dad's arm or the realization of how close they'd come to death again.

He put his arm over his eyes and tried to rest if not sleep. By morning, Dad would find their next hunt and they'd be gone again, and it would be like tonight never happened at all.

Sam hated it.

to be continued


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I told a few people what this chapter was going to be about. I lied. Or rather – the story changed itself. The cougar will be in the next chapter. (Unless things change again!)

* * *

Dad was in a weird mood, Sam decided, but he couldn't figure out why.

First weird thing - they weren't out of the motel and back on the road at the crack of dawn. Sam knew it wasn't because Dad overslept - because Dad _never_ overslept. Including this morning, because when dawn finally made an appearance at the end of Sam's endless, sleepless night, Dad was up and starting his day. He was making coffee and humming some old rock tune when Sam finally, finally, drifted to sleep.

Second weird thing- Sam fully expected to be rousted out of his lumpy roll away bed as soon as the coffee was ready and the bathroom was free, never mind how few minutes of actual sleep he'd gotten. But he wasn't. He woke up, all on his own, at nearly eleven am. He pushed up on his elbows and looked around. Dad was at the table, cleaning weapons. Dean was stretched out on the vinyl covered sofa, reading a gun magazine.

Neither of them seemed to notice Sam was awake until he asked,

"Weren't we heading to Illinois today?"

Dad looked up from his work.

"Later. We're just gonna hang out and regroup today."

That was the third weird thing. Over the years, Sam had come to realize that '_hang out and regroup_' was what Dad said when something had spooked him and he needed to figure it out, or when he was hurt and didn't want Dean and Sam to know how bad, or when one of _them _was hurt and Dad didn't want to let on how scared he was about it.

What was he _'regrouping' _about today? The slice on his arm from their little confrontation last night didn't look that bad; Dad did seem to be favoring that arm at all now. So, what could it be?

Sam didn't ask, Dad would never say anyway. Sam would get Dean alone sometime later and find out what was going on. For now, he rolled out of bed and used the bathroom. He was still fully dressed, and getting undressed to take a shower just to get dressed again would be too much trouble so he skipped the shower and went out to the kitchen cupboard and made himself bowl of cereal. With the couch all taken up with Dean, he took his breakfast and sat at the table with Dad.

After a few mouthfuls of cereal, with nobody saying anything about what was going on, Sam asked,

"Was there any more about the fire?"

"Still smoldering when I went by there this morning." Dean said from behind his magazine. "They think a homeless person started a fire inside the building to keep warm and - _pfft. _The whole block is toast. The cops said the city wanted that whole section torn down anyway. I wonder where 'Dumb and Dumber' will hold court now that it's done."

"Don't worry," Dad said. "They're still running." He flashed a smile over at Sam but it disappeared fast. "You get enough sleep?"

Sam shrugged and ate a spoonful of cereal.

"Yeah. I guess. I don't know."

Dad and Dean both looked at him and Sam put all his attention on finishing his cereal, and they didn't ask him anything more. When he was done with breakfast, he rinsed his dish and spoon and turned to ask Dad,

"You want me to help you clean the weapons?"

Because '_resting and regrouping'_ never meant doing _nothing._ Unless one of them was hurt, there was always some chore to be done.

But Dad shook his head.

"No, I've got it. I thought maybe you and Dean could hit the closest car parts store. We still need to replace the windshield wiper."

Dean tossed his magazine down and swung himself up from the couch, like he'd just been waiting from the word from Dad to get moving.

"Sure. C'mon, Sammy. Let's hit it."

Sam looked from Dean to Dad, and then from Dad to Dean. Weird thing number four: nobody ever suggested Sam go to a car parts store. Dean or Dad in a car parts store was like Sam in a bookstore – never-ending interest in absolutely everything on the shelves. So Sam rarely went to a car parts store because he was always bored and Dean and Dad knew that. And now Dad was deliberately sending him and Dean was deliberately taking him.

Maybe something was going on with Dad that Sam had no idea about.

So when he was in the car with Dean and they were headed for the strip mall down the road, Sam asked,

"Is Dad okay?"

"Yeah. 'Course he is." Dean said easily, not like he was trying to hide something.

"How come we're 'resting and regrouping' then?"

_That_ question made Dean huff out a breath. When he answered, his voice was tight.

"Because of what happened with _you_ last night. "

"Me?" Sam was surprised. "They didn't lay a finger on me."

"_Right._" Dean answered. "Dad told me what happened - you went _nuclear_ on them, Sammy. Dad said he's never seen you like that."

"Is that why I got sent with you to buy windshield wipers? So you can _talk_ to me about it?" Sam asked. "They hurt Dad. They pissed me off. That's all."

"No, that is _not_ all. You haven't been sleeping, you hardly talk. _Something's_ going on."

Sam stared at Dean. Some _thing_ was going on? Some _thing? _Try a million 'some _things'_. Each and every one of them more sharp, pointy and pokey than the last.

And none of them that Dad or Dean would understand.

Sam turned to look out the passenger window.

_"Nothing's going on." _

"Fine. Don't tell me." Dean muttered. "But Dad doesn't want to go anywhere until he knows you're okay."

Finding the right windshield wiper didn't take long for Dean and, surprisingly, in a few minutes they were back in the car and on their way back to the motel. Nothing more got said about the night before and when they got back to the motel, Dean stayed outside and got started switching the wipers. Sam opened the door to go back into the motel room.

Dad's back was to the door, he was putting the last of the weapons into the duffel. He didn't seem to know that Sam was there and Sam watched him for a little bit.

In Sam's whole life, they'd hardly stayed in any motel or town or even the same _county_ one night more than they needed, once a hunt was done, unless one of them was seriously hurt, or the car was out of commission. Dad was always action and movement, find a hunt, get to the hunt, finish the hunt, find the next hunt. With no break in between.

But now Dad was planning on staying here at least one more night because he was worried about Sam. Because he thought Sam needed the breather. Because he _cared_ about Sam.

"Dad?"

"Hey, kiddo. You back already?" Dad asked, looking up from the duffel.

"Yeah. Dean didn't look around or anything. He just got the wipers. He's out putting them on now."

"I'll see if he needs a hand."

Dad shouldered the duffel and headed out the door, giving Sam's arm a squeeze as he walked past him, and Sam smiled at him without even needing to hunt the smile up. It just happened.

"Hey, Dad? Can I help you put the wipers on?" He asked. And the smile Dad gave back to him was the kind Sam hadn't seen on his face in a long time.

"Sure thing, kiddo. C'mon, let's show Dean how it's done."

And Sam followed him out to the car.

To be continued


End file.
